


Easy as Breathing

by ticklishraspberries



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Through the Years, Tickle Fights, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:15:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21738196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticklishraspberries/pseuds/ticklishraspberries
Summary: At first, being in their vessels is new. But as years pass, touching becomes as easy as breathing.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 62





	Easy as Breathing

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was a commission from the lovely @rosileeduckie on Tumblr! If you'd like to commission me, here's all the info!:  
> https://ticklishraspberries.tumblr.com/commissions

It was still new, being in their vessels.

There were things that should not affect angels and demons that now seemed to sneak up on them, like bodily reactions to the weather, shivering and sweating being something that they could control, but it was so excitingly new and unfamiliar that they almost didn’t want to stop it. Perhaps it was the first sign that they had gone native, all those thousands of years ago, already far too in love with their beating hearts, eyelashes, and each finger and toe.

Neither of them knew what it felt like to touch another vessel with a shred of intimacy, both Heaven and Hell being sticklers about avoiding affection wherever possible, so neither Aziraphale or Crowley ever attempted to initiate it until about a thousand years into knowing one another, and it had honestly been accidental.

Brushing fingers when they walked side-by-side, a leaf caught in Crowley’s red curls being swept away by Aziraphale’s tentative hand.

Crowley had jerked away from that, causing Aziraphale to apologize profusely.

“No worries, angel,” he replied.

“Oh, I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Not one bit. Just silly human nervous system at play.”

Aziraphale furrowed his brow. “What do you mean by that?”

Suddenly looking a bit flustered, something that Aziraphale had never seen nor even imagined, Crowley cleared his throat. “Well, humans are quite sensitive to the smallest of touches. Unfortunately, my vessel seems to share that quality.”

He couldn’t help it; the angel laughed. “Who would have thought that demons could be ticklish?”

Now, Crowley was definitely embarrassed, judging by how his face had flushed pink. “Oh, shut it.”

And Aziraphale did, until the next time that they were together, about a century later, their paths crossing perhaps not-so-accidentally, a part of the ineffable plan it seemed, because there was a magnetic force which seemed to pull them together more and more frequently nowadays.

“Hey, angel, are you even listening to me?”

He wasn’t.

“Angel!”

The exclamation was met with Crowley’s index finger jabbing into Aziraphale side, the impact softened by his excessive wardrobe and the plumpness of his middle, but it tickled nevertheless, making the warrior of Heaven let out a squeaky giggle and double over, having not expected nor ever experienced the sensation.

When he looked up at Crowley, a wicked grin was spread across his face, brows quirked above his sunglasses, and Aziraphale felt his face go red (yet another side effect of his vessel, it seemed).

“Ticklish, angel?”

“My vessel, perhaps,” he replied stiffly, even bordering on a bit snobbishly. He fixed his coat, an excuse to have his arms closer to his sensitive upper body, in case he needed protection, “Now, what do you want?”

Despite his standoffish approach, it was clear from that moment that a barrier between them had collapsed. They’d touched, voluntarily too, and they’d made one another smile, and laugh, and blush.

A sign of their friendship, of their alliance. A sign that they were growing comfortable in their humanity, their vessels and their time on Earth. A sign that they were comfortable with one another, too.

It was terrifying and exciting all at once, and it wasn’t uncommon for pokes and prods to be thrown out from time to time over the next five thousand or so years.

It was the beginning of something beautiful, for sure.

***

Armageddon was over, and things were so different.

Their vessels were comfortable now, like a favorite pair of worn-out shoes, a little beat up and perhaps old-fashioned, but too familiar to give up.

After being discorporated for a bit, Aziraphale was especially happy to be back in his.

Unlike angels and demons, humans craved touch. They noticed it in their friends, in Adam and The Them, in Anathema and Newton, even Madame Tracy and Mister Shadwell.

It was so natural to them, to hug and hold hands.

At first, it had been hard for Aziraphale and Crowley to understand. But once they started touching one another regularly, building up the same way they’d started; brushing fingers, bumping shoulders…Touching became as easy as breathing, something which they also didn’t really need, but they craved regardless, with their human heart and lungs.

“Ticklish, angel?” Crowley asked, his voice a teasing murmur, asking a question which he knew the answer to perfectly.

Aziraphale spluttered out a nervous giggle, trying and failing to bat mischievous hands away from his belly. “You know quite well that I am, you fiend!”

“Oh, I know. I just love to hear you admit it.”

Fingers wiggling against his belly, and their bodies pressed close on the couch, legs touching and Crowley’s lips sneaking to kiss his angel’s temple sweetly, despite the torture he was putting him through, although they both knew that it barely constituted as torture for either of them.

He poked and prodded at his ribs, and skittered fingers over the side of his neck, all drawing delicious laughter from Aziraphale’s mouth, a delightful sound that made Crowley’s stomach do flips. His fondness got the better of him though, as it left him distracted and open for a chance of revenge.

“Well, let’s not pretend that I am the only sensitive one here, my dear,” Aziraphale managed to say between chuckles, darting a hand out to squeeze Crowley’s hip, the hyper-ticklish spot memorized from all the times he had abused the knowledge and brought his beloved to near tears (another thing that they needed to get used to was crying, whether from sadness or laughter, but both were cathartic in their own ways; it was nice to express their emotions without fear).

Head tipped back, Crowley’s laughter came spilling from his lips like sweet wine, something which Aziraphale could definitely get drunk on, the sound so beautifully intoxicating, he never wanted to stop hearing it.

“You bastard!”

“Oh, now I’m a bastard, am I? May I remind you that you were the one that started this, darling.”

Crowley pushed uselessly at his lover’s hands, shaking his head back and forth, sending his sunglasses askew. “Angel, please—”

“Oh, alright, you baby,” Aziraphale teased gently, ceasing his tickling fingers. “You can’t take a taste of your own medicine, can you?”

“Oh, shut up and kiss me, will you?”

And Aziraphale did just that.

Their vessels were far from new, but putting them to good use sure was.

Despite that, touching one another was like second nature, and it neither of them ever wanted it to stop.


End file.
